


Is There a Place Just for Us?

by HerAwesomeShinyness



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, as little plot as possible, but like they don't talk about it, canon compliant if you squint, grouchy dorks in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26201413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerAwesomeShinyness/pseuds/HerAwesomeShinyness
Summary: After the devastating raids that almost her people, Haleth of the Haladin, newly minted chieftain, wants to lead her people to safer territories to the West. First, however, they must recover from their ordeal, and grow strong enough to weather the journey.The Elf-lord whose forces ultimately saved them, Caranthir, claims he needs to repay them for the damage he did by ignoring their presence until he was nearly too late, and offers to do so by sheltering them through the winter, and helping them prepare for their further journeys.As they work together, Haleth and Caranthir begin to realise they might have more in common than they thought.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë/Haleth of the Haladin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	Is There a Place Just for Us?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HoundsofValinor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoundsofValinor/gifts).



> Inspired by [this art](https://huanhoundofvalinor.tumblr.com/post/627655218390335488/im-very-excite-to-show-my-part-of-the-tolkienrsb) which is amazing

The elves were... magnificent. Awesome. Brimming with power and light, such that it was difficult to look straight at them.

They were also late.

Useless.

Oh, certainly they could not have come quicker, yes, she knows this rationally. And certainly, half a people dead means half a people still living.

But so many of her people are still dead.

And these gleaming warriors with their glowing weapons and their bright armour upon their shining horses had been unable to prevent that. And now he was offering her protection? When he had just proven himself incapable of giving it?

Fool.

Still, he had to be talked to, and she had to do the talking. And as soon as she finished being the chieftain, being Haleth the Hunter, courteous and polite, yet strong and unyielding, who doesn't scream at their saviour, she would go and check on the barricades, because even though the orcs had been driven off, and they had a guard of amazing, wonderful, glowing-in-the-dark elves, didn't mean her people felt safe. And now it's her duty to keep them safe and make sure they felt safe.

And if checking the perimeter meant she got some time to herself in which to cry into her sleeve...nobody had to know.

She hadn't been taught to be chieftain, the position having been born a scant few months earlier, but she had been taught to lead. She can do this.

First, however, she has to get through this conversation.

"–if, of course, you do not feel that it might be _disquieting_ , Lady," the elf, lord Caranthir, says, the condescending asshole.

"Lord, why do you call me that?" She snaps. Of course the second she starts listening to him again would be the one he acts like her people's reasonable terror is some pathetic and childish fear. Still, she hasn't punched him yet. An achievement.

"Why do I call you Lady?" She nods. "Well, because I have been told you are the leader of these people, and it would be disrespectful not to address you as such. Was my understanding in error?"

"If I am the leader of my people, and you wish to treat me with the respect I am due, then why are you treating me like a child? You speak like your ideas are the only truth in the world, but you understand that my tiny mind wouldn't grasp them." She pauses. "Respectfully, Lord."

He blushes, and bows his head. At least he's smart enough to realise he was a condescending moron. And capable of admitting it.

"I apologise, truly. It's just... I don't often find myself giving advice to people, so I am not very practiced at it." She raises an eyebrow at this pathetic excuse for–for an excuse. The slightly panicked look in his eyes as he scrambles for a better apology is, she was petty enough to admit, very satisfying. "I should have thought more carefully about what I was saying, I am here to help you, if I can, not to insult you."

Well, politics. She nods her acceptance, although she stays careful not to smile or bow. He has more than rash words to apologise for, after all.

"And how, if I may ask, do you intend to help. Lord?" Still rude, but politics can only do so much to stay her temper.

Rage flashes over his face, his eyes blazing with light–if it's supposed to be intimidating she can see how it would work–and then passes, returning him to a neutral scowl. He doesn't answer her for a minute or so, breathing slowly and deliberately.

It's good to see she's not the only one willing to force herself to be polite.

"As I said," he says, finally, "I would offer you my protection. Land closer to our defenses, resources to get you through the winter, connections to anyone you may wish to trade with. I owe you, I'm willing to do much to lessen that debt."

"And when one day you consider that debt repaid? Will you abandon my people to the orcs' mercy?" If he weren't an elf it wouldn't be so much of a problem, but he is. This is not a debt that can be forgotten after a few generations.

In a few generations' time he will still be here, still capable of changing his mind.

"Repaid? How can I ever repay you for the pain I've caused you through my negligence? That will not be a problem."

"Hypothetically, then. Indulge me. Are you not indebted to me?"

An interesting character. He takes a few seconds to look at her carefully, making sure she was joking perhaps, before he huffs a small laugh, and his face relaxes into what might be called a while.

"Hypothetically," he says, "by that time your people will have lived in close proximity to mine for a long time. You, they will be valued inhabitants of this region, important to its running. Even if I wanted to abandon them then, I would not be able to."

A decent argument, to be fair. Not some platitude about how he would surely start loving the Haladin as if they were his own people. She also can't help but appreciate that he's willing to acknowledge she won't live forever. It seems like the kind of thing his kind would get hung up on.

"That is acceptable," she says, nodding slowly, "but acceptable isn't enough."

"I am more than willing to come to a formal agreement we will all be happy with, if vague promises are the problem."

"If I thought you weren't, I would not be speaking to you." No offense, of course. If she were willing to be charitable, she might suppose him to be tired, to be speaking such nonsense.

For all that she snapped at him, though, he cheers up at that. Does he have to deal with a lot of people who insist on informal agreements?

"We do not have to come up with a long term arrangement now, do we?" He says, sounding very much like some who's had an idea.

That's better than she has, so she nods at him to speak.

"You mentioned, earlier, that your people no longer felt safe here, and wished to keep moving West." She did say that, yes, and then he started being condescending about it. "But, lady Haleth, it will be winter soon. Would you truly travel across the open plains then, with no protection from the northern winds? Or were you planning to stay here, in a–no offense–cobbled-together little village behind a barricade only slightly more stable?"

She has to raise her eyebrows at his use of 'no offense' but she's done the same, so can't really complain.

"You would suggest we move to the lands you would promise me, and stay there over the winter."

"I would suggest you take months that would otherwise be dangerous to you to rest, recover, and prepare." He pauses, frowning slightly more than usual. "For the sake of honesty, I am hoping that if you take time to rest your people will lose their apprehension and their desire to travel, come to trust me."

"I'm glad you're willing to admit that. It's possible that some will change their minds and be willing to stay, and others not. Would you be willing to only harbour a fraction of my people?"

"Well, yes. It would certainly cut on the costs." Oh no, is this what he considers a joke? "But. I am sorry, are we in agreement now?"

"I will need to ask everyone's opinions. I'm only leader because they wish me to be, after all. But I, Haleth, may willing to accept this from you."

"Then I will be glad to speak to you more, lady Haleth."

The subsequent bowing and bowing again and exchanging of thanks would be, she thinks, slightly more impressive if it weren't followed up by both of them walking in the same direction to get food.

Well, they weren't here to impress, after all.

Relocating is quick. They have nothing that wasn't already carried, after all.

Deciding their fate, however, is even quicker. Even if they weren't so afraid, this is a land of death and memories now. Few want to stay.

At least, when he is satisfied her people are going to survive the winter, lord Caranthir is easier to convince.

Negotiations start even before the first snows.

She doesn't remember the discussions. Not individually at least, hours of diplomatic (well, mostly) conversations, and speeches, and numbers. So many numbers, the lives of her people symbols on a letter that will be sent to Lord Elu Thingol, King of Doriath and Beleriand and all those who dwell within and so on and so forth.

Numbers written, she is given to understand, to seem pitiful and yet strong. An honest representation of their strength despite their hardship, because it would not do to be caught in a lie by someone that arrogant, and yet somehow also a depiction of a people too crushed to be a threat, but with potential to become strong allies, and would it not be good, if such allies were deeply thankful to one.

All in all, it's despicable. And even if it weren't, she would still hate it, this work of elegant letters and speeches and ledgers not something she had been taught.

She can't even enjoy herself when the time comes for her actual requests to be relayed, because she cannot respond to the king's rudeness in kind. She'll have to speak to him again, when they eventually arrive, she is told. She'll explain some of the ways he was wrong on that occasion.

Caranthir is helpful, as he promised. And he seems to loathe the half-truths and the bootlicking just as much as she does, not just–she thinks–because he is only barely better at it than she is.

It's...admirable, perhaps. Comforting, not be alone in her opinion. Heartening, to see someone so honest. Someone who had claimed some responsibility for her people's wellbeing, and is now standing by her side, rolling his eyes almost as much as she does, while she works for it.

She also quite likes not being the most awkward person in the room.

When they finish a meeting, the elves leave, filing out of the small hall that was constructed, frankly, entirely for these discussions.

As they leave the camp, they ride off North and East. Towards Caranthir's fortress, she is given to understand. They're all either his subordinates or his guests, so where else would they go?

(Perhaps it's a hint to them, Caranthir's guests and subordinates who refuse his hospitality. If it is, everyone ignores it)

What she can't ignore is the lord himself. 

Every time he leaves, he pauses just as he's getting on his horse–usually at the most awkward moment possible, leg in the air as he swings himself into the saddle–and looks at her. It's never longer than a second, so he might think she hasn't noticed, but. Well. He's pretty obvious.

Equally obvious, and equally strange, is the fact that he doesn't ride with his people.

He never does. Every time she has watched their honoured guests leave–meaning almost every time they have left–Caranthir spurred his horse away from the rest of the group, and rode off on a different path, still broadly going in the same direction, but distant from his companions.

One of these days, she always vows to herself, she'll ask why.

In the end, he's faster than her.

"Lady Haleth," he says, not looking at her, as they walk behind the other elves towards the stables built almost entirely for them, "I assume you must have noticed, these past weeks, that I do not ride back with the rest of my group."

"I have noticed, yes. I was going to ask you about it soon, in fact." She admits.

He makes some kind of pained sound that she realises–after a few seconds–might have been a strangled laugh. Or maybe he swallowed some of his stupid hair.

"I–it's nothing special. Just to clear my head, be alone for a while. The reason I brought it up–" He stops, and out of the corner of her eye she can see him blushing. He rallies, then, and starts again. "The reason I brought it up, is that you also seem like you do not enjoy these talks, and like a person who enjoys being outside. So I was wondering whether you would do me the honour of sometimes riding out with me."

"No."

He jumps at that, startled into ungracefulness. That's understandable, she's also shocked at the speed of her response, the strength of her denial.

"Why...? You do not have to answer, of course, but please, lady Haleth, why not?"

"Tell me first, why did you ask me? You do not seem like someone who enjoys much company, so why would you ask a near stranger to accompany you as you try to relax? One might think you have ulterior motives."

One might not think, really. She doesn't know elves very well, but she is a pretty good judge of character, and he is _not_ the type.

Proving her either right or very skillfully deceived, he takes a few seconds to realise what she is implying, and then he jumps away from her–leaps!–his face flaming red.

"I would _not_ –lady Haleth, I would never– I swear to you, I–" he stops stammering, still red, when he sees her face.

Very diplomatically, she isn't actually laughing. It's a near thing, though, the shock and outrage and vague terror in his eyes are simply too much.

"I apologise, lord Caranthir," she says, instead of giggling like a little girl, "I did not mean any insult. I know you wouldn't do anything like that. However," and the relief that had been building in his eyes disappears again, "I wasn't joking when I refused your offer. I simply don't have time, there's always something requiring my attention. Maybe in the future I'll be able to join you, but I cannot afford to relax, these days."

She also doesn't have a horse, but that can be solved more easily. And probably will, over the course of their negotiations. He'd promised to help with their journey as well, after all.

They reach the stables, still in contemplative silence, and–as he puts one hand on his saddle–he turns to look at her. Then he nods slowly, a small bow, and climbs on.

"I will ask you again then, when you seem less busy." He says. He looks calm and confident. Then he blushes again.

"I look forward to that day, lord Caranthir."

She doesn't watch him leave, the healer's apprentice appearing as if from nowhere to drag her off. Hopefully it's not bad news.

Indeed, horses appear a few weeks later, just as life starts changing from 'trudging through muddy, boot-eating slush' to 'wading through knee-high snow'.

They do not help, because they also don't enjoy wading through the snow. Still, they are there.

It happens a few weeks after that, four days after they all agreed it would be best to travel not in the coming spring, but the one after.

The day is a very good one. They are in the middle of a brief warm spell, blessed by a breeze from the South that somehow made it so far inland. The evening before, the infirmaries were empty. That morning, some head scout or other–she should probably pay attention to that, really–unrolled a far more detailed map than the one they had been working on, and started pointing out suggested routes that would be, if not safe, then possible–even for their large and slow group.

It's a good day.

So, really, she's expecting it.

"Lady Haleth," Caranthir says, one hand on the saddle, "would you come for a short ride with me?"

She wants to. But that's not what's important, so she walks in a small circle around herself, watching everything in the small courtyard the stables are attached to, and sees nothing.

Nothing relevant, at least. No panicking, no rushing, no yelling of her name or running in her direction.

"I would like that very much, lord Caranthir," she says.

She does.

"Come on a ride with me," she says, as soon as he jumps off his horse.

It’s the height of spring, the problem with the well he is visiting about has already been fixed, and his face when he realises she is already mounted–and let him get off before telling him to leave again just to tower over him for a bit–is hilarious.

They've done this before, as the days got warmer. Left for a ride as soon as their presence was no longer required to find some peaceful corner of the hills to sit in and admire.

Recently, Caranthir has taken to giving her presents, on these little outings.

A few pieces of bittersweet chocolate, a common treat in the West, apparently, but obtained from a plant almost impossible to grow in Beleriand. It's very good, so much so she can't even regret that he also clearly adores it, but still gave her some of his own private stash.

A cape of finely-woven green, which seems to reflect the leaves around her to look brighter. He made it, apparently.

It's very comfortable, and light enough for the weather. That's, of course, the only reason she's wearing it.

It's also–and she only admits it because she despises lying to herself–because appreciation for his gifts is something she can give him, one of the few things that fit that description and didn't come from him in the first place.

Something else she can give him is experiences. Sights. Really funny jokes he would never come up with on his own. A source of common sense.

What she wants to give him today, however, is just something new and beautiful.

Oh yes, he has lived in this part of the world for centuries, maybe, but he's kept busy watching North, and in any case nature is ever-changing. There is every chance the things she wants to show him are news to him, and for now she has always won that bet.

"Will we be there soon?" He says, maybe half an hour into the ride. It's the first time either of them has mentioned that she's bringing him somewhere, their previous conversation just bits and pieces of gossip and observations on their surroundings.

They're very careful not to talk of work, when they can.

"Yes, yes!" She calls back. "So impatient. This is why everyone can tell you're a younger brother."

"Well you're annoying, and that's why everyone can tell you're an older sister." He shoots back.

It's not quite routine, but it feels like it will get there. The teasing–somehow warm in her chest despite the subject matter–but also just this. The ride itself.

Excluding the destination, the day's outing is indistinguishable from many others. First, the brief race across the cleared lands surrounding the village. To let the horses have fun, and to wash away as many worries as possible in the wind of speed.

Then, after they hit the treeline, the switch to a more sedate pace, dodging through the trees, letting the fresh green smells, the wind in the leaves and the calls of birds, the soft rays of sunlight coming through the leaves, soothe their overworked senses.

It's, again, not routine. But she might like it if it became one.

She shakes her head. Teasing is all well and good, but it's fair to be concerned at how far from everyone else they currently are.

"Don't worry," she says, "we really are almost there."

Provided she hasn't gotten lost, but how could that ever happen? 

Soon enough, as expected, they arrive. She tries to give no sign as the horses step into the small clearing, to see if he'll figure it out.

"Oh." He says. A small astonished sound that tells her she was right to trust his intuition.

Caranthir claims, like apparently most of his people, to be more interested in the beauty of crafts than the beauty of nature, made things over growing things. But he l–or maybe all of them, she doesn't care–has a particular weakness for colours.

There are more colours here than she can understand, really. Infinite shades of green in the trees and bushes around them, in the grass, in the moss on the fallen trees that created this clearing.

And that's just the green. Now, in the middle of spring, there are flowers everywhere. Bright bundles of white and blue, isolated pinks and reds, clumps of yellow, bright purple, orange, more blue.

She's quite proud of it. One clearing like many others, yes. But this one is hers. Theirs.

"Like it?" She asks lightly, as she leads him in a brief trot along the edge of the trees, not quite touching the scene yet.

"It's gorgeous," he answers, completely calm, as if the world has ceded to exist. "How did you even find this?"

"I was hunting, maybe a month ago. I had a feeling it would become something amazing. And I was right, wasn't I?" As she speaks, she turns around. He's stopped. Gotten off the horse. He didn't make a single sound to tell her, completely lost in what she thinks might be inspiration. She's still getting used to his kind.

"I," he manages, after a few minutes, "thank you. This is amazing. Thank you for showing me."

"No one else has seen it yet. The idea," she says, "is that no one ever will. This seems like a nice place to run from politics, wouldn't you say?"

He turns around at that, blushing again–she loves it when she can make him do that–a smile spreading over his face.

"Is that what this is? Somewhere we can hide from our responsibilities?"

"If you want it to be, yes." They have the same feelings towards their duty, after all. They'll do it, but the talking to people, the diplomacy and bargaining...those are to be borne and gotten over with as fast as possible.

"I would love that." He says, with great dignity and poise, the bastard. "I am glad you trust me enough to share this hiding place with me, lady Haleth. You honour me with your trust."

"Please, honoured lord Caranthir," she replies in kind, "if you make me think about this kind of overblown speech ever again while we are in this place, I will actually strangle you."

Then he starts laughing, and she can't help but follow.

The night is cool, a welcome respite from the summer heat that torments her days. The grass under her–a bit dry, but still soft–smells sweet and fresh. The stars reflected in the lake, crowning the mountains both above and below, are beautiful, bright like she's never seen them before.

In short, she's not unhappy at all, just confused.

And tired, it's probably closer to dawn than to sunset.

"Why did you bring me here in the middle of the night?" She asks. It's really very beautiful, objectively, but losing the stars wouldn't have ruined it so much that it wasn't worth it to just come during the day. She tells him that as well.

"Ah. To be completely honest, I did not expect you to accept my invitation. It was just...a whim."

"Even whims have their reasons."

"True." He takes a deep breath. Does he need to calm himself? Really? This is what he's scared of? "I have–had– _have_ a friend..."

"You have a friend?" She can't help but interrupt. "I'm shocked and amazed."

He droops. Ah, that had been a bit cruel, hadn't it. Elves could get so delicate when they had to speak of death, she had learned. 

She tries to smile at him in a comforting way, trusting his idiotically good eyesight to see her expression when she cannot see his. It seems to work.

"Yes. I have a friend. I was amazed as well. Anyway, her name was–is Tindil. Back home, before we came East, she was an astronomer. Studied the stars, everything from how their light worked to the images hidden in them. You–" he pauses again, sounding even more embarrassed than usual, "you mentioned that you might have different constellations than us. Or at least different tales about them. I was hoping, maybe you could...?"

"If I could tell you stories from the stars? This is what you drag me–drag both of us–away from actual important work for?"

He hasn't been looking at her for a while now, his face stubbornly pointed at the sky, but at that he flinches, and turns his attention to the ground instead. Oh damn. She was going to feel bad now.

"Ah! Don't make that face! I don't know what face you're making, but you shouldn't. I can indulge you, sometimes, if you really need me to."

"I just. I miss my friend. And I thought, maybe if I could find something interesting for her, for if I ever see her again, that might help. And I do still wish to learn about your people. So this seemed like a doubly useful exercise." He sighs. "I do apologise for bothering you."

She sighs as well. Talking to people, that's what they're evenly matched at. It's lucky they hadn't both offered deadly insults within five minutes of meeting, really.

"You're not bothering. It's fine. It's just, hm." How would her mother have put it? "Some of the constellations, and the tales attached to them, are...private. Not yours to know. I'm trying to buy time so I can think of good ones that I am allowed to share with you."

He grabs her hand and squeezes it in assent, trying not to disturb her with sound. It doesn't work, but it's still sweet.

"I don't _think_ we should be able to see him now, not in summer, and not with the mountains there, but if you like I'll tell you about the Hunter." She has to, really, without the Hunter he won't understand the stories.

"The hunter? We certainly don't have a constellation by that name, can you describe him?"

"He is a tall figure, who guides us through the winters. I mean. He's easiest to see during the winter. He's a vaguely human figure, with a short tunic, and a bright belt of three stars. He has a knife at his waist, and a bow in his left hand–"

"Ah!" Caranthir interrupts. "I think I know who you mean! We call him Menelmacar, the swordsman of the heavens. I've always been taught that he is holding a shield in his left, but I can see the bow, if I think about it."

"That's interesting," she says politely, and holds his hand tighter in warning.

"But I asked you for stories and should shut up and let you continue?"

She doesn't dignify that with a response.

"It is said that in the land of our birth, we, Men, were lost for a time. Unsure what to do. So we divided among ourselves according to what we felt our goal, our destiny, was.

"The ancestors of my Haladin thought our future was in the forests, hiding in a safe dark, hunting. Later, they traded with elves who had similar inclinations, not that that matters.

"In the winter, when hunting was hard, and the trees didn't hide the stars, they saw the Hunter. He blessed them with good luck and great skills, or taught them, or encouraged them to strive. We don't know. What matters is that he guided them in difficult times, and kept doing so, winter after winter, even as they moved.

"During one particularly hard year, it is said, one woman decided that it was not enough for him to guide from a distance. That he had helped once, and gained her people's veneration, so he should take responsibility. She decided to catch him, and make him do so.

"The story is long, and I'm tired, so I'm not going to tell you the whole thing now," she stops to say, "but the point is, she caught him. And he said he had no time to do more than guide, because he was a hunter in the forests in the heavens, and couldn't hunt down on earth as well.

"Instead, he offered to give her a boon, so she might help her people in his stead. To give her luck, and skill, and wisdom."

"And what did she say?" Out of the corner of her eye she can see him looking at her, clearly full of excitement, so she forgives the interruption. This really is like teaching the children.

"We don't know. When she returned to her people she refused to tell them. Some think she accepted his boon, but didn't want to say what it was for fear of being envied, or losing the advantage that made her so reflected. Some say she laughed in the Hunter's face, and told him that she was good enough to catch him and needed nothing more."

She prefers the second explanation, for all its arrogance. After all, the woman wasn't wrong.

"Whatever her decision," she continues, "she had been respected before, and having met the Hunter gained her even more renown, so much that people started calling her the Hunter as well, claiming she was his counterpart on earth, and coming to her for guidance and advice, even though the Haladin never had a true leader before or after.

"It is also said that her daughter was equally wise, and skilled, and respected, and her daughter, and hers, and so on. I'm descended from her, that's why the people chose me."

"Oh. Huh. Did they follow your father because his wife and daughter were so respectable?" 

"That's very polite of you." She doesn't give him a chance to apologise, she knows how his curiosity can get the better of him. "But yes, probably, in part. It's politics, it's bound to be complicated."

She can hear him make a face at that, and allows herself to laugh at him. What kind of answer was he expecting, that didn't involve politics?

In the end, they stay on that hillside over the river until dawn, and stumble back to the settlement with the sun's rays starting to crest the mountains behind them.

The ride is a silent one, both of them, presumably, focused on the last plans and preparations.

It's unnervingly fast, though. Of course, not as fast as the past half-year, lost in hunts and farming and diplomacy and packing and training and a million other things.

She isn't surprised to see their destination is the clearing that has become so familiar, now shimmering with the last snows, the still frigid air making everything seem more rigid. Still, the sun is shining, there's grass and a few flowers starting to peek through the snow, it's quite beautiful.

She ignores it, and instead focuses on taking care of the horse–the beast clearly wants to gorge itself on the fresh green shoots in the forest, and therefore needs to be restrained.

She knows the conversation that's waiting for them, and though it's one that needs to be had, it's probably not going to be fun.

"You know what I want to talk about," Caranthir says, after a few minutes of sitting in silence.

She nods, and replies, "and you know what I will say."

"I do," he says, a miserable whisper followed by a bright blush. Still too proud for emotions, apparently.

"Are you sure you can't at least stay a bit longer?"

"Caranthir, we've had this talk before. My people have been attacked here once before, they do not feel safe. I have a duty." And his cousin had gone to such trouble for their arrangement with the forest king. Not that she can say that here, where the disrespect to Thingol is close to being an argument in favour of bending the terms of the treaty.

"You know why I ask."

And there it is. The Conversation.

"I feel the same, but I cannot allow that–"

"I know. I cannot abandon my duty either, or I would come with you."

"Would that even be allowed?" She asks. He is very much forbidden from the forest kingdom, is he not? And though the land she had been given isn't, of course, within that Girdle of theirs, there are still rules.

"I...think so," he says, clearly thinking over all the treaties and bans and arguments standing between him and Brethil, "and even if it weren't, we could think of something."

But they can't. Because he can't leave, and she has to.

"Caranthir." She is prepared for this. She can say this. "Even if it were possible, would it be worth it? To abandon your people in a time of need for what? A little fling, lasting barely more than a season? We've already had that."

His gasp is more stricken than she was expecting, closer to a sob, and then there are arms around her, and she's looking at the red-on-black spirals on his chest, her cheek pressed into the soft fabric.

"Don't say that. Please." The arms tighten, and she can't help but turn in their hold, make the embrace mutual. "Please don't say that."

"I'm sorry." She is. She doesn't regret saying it, though. It _is_ the truth.

"It would not be a short fling, Haleth. Days and months and years are as long for me as they are for you, even if I have more of them. I would–" His breath hitches, and she hugs him tighter, runs one hand in circles over his back and one in smooth strokes through his sleek hair. Maybe that's more of a comfort to herself than to him, but after starting, she can't bring herself to stop. Not when she might never be able to again.

"You would, wouldn't you?" she sighs, "you would leave all your responsibilities behind for decades, do nothing but be mine for the rest of my life."

"I have six brothers, and other people I trust besides. Something could be arranged." His voice sounds almost petulant now, somehow still not accustomed to things not going his way.

"We already agreed that it cannot."

They have. There's nothing else to say.

They sit, in silence, embracing in the snow. It's...nice, for all that she can't feel anything below her waist anymore. The sitting in the snow part of that might not have been a good idea.

"You know how I feel." He says firmly. "I _will_ come visit whenever I can."

"I would not expect anything else, Moryo."


End file.
